Chocolate Frogs and Time Turners
by Lightless
Summary: Ten-year-old Harry Potter stumbles upon a special time turner and is sent back to 1938.
1. The Time Turner

**{Disclaimer}** Anything you recognize, JKR owns.

Funny thing about Time. The general consensus is that Time is linear. Once a point in Time has passed, it's over, done, nothing you can do about it. You are physically past that point in Time. And now, we have the world of the wizards, where magic exists, and "the past" is no longer untouchable.

The majority of Time Turners were made with the idea that Time is linear. And thus, the further back you go in time, the more energy is needed to get you there. Time Turners made with this idea only have enough energy to go back a day, perhaps two without special tweaking.

Now, let me ask you this: what if someone made a Time Turner that didn't think of Time as linear? What if this person, say, thought there was only one truth to Time: the Now. And in this one truth to Time lies all the secrets of the past, all the worries about the future. Memory is a powerful thing – unconscious Memory especially – and it is the key to this Time Turner. This Time Turner has the power to bring Memories into the Now, while having the power to also keep the person wearing it in this new-old Now. In doing so, it creates a new dimension of Reality.

**{...}**

At age ten, Harry hadn't given much thought to time travel.

Instead, his daily thoughts consisted of daffodils, carnations, petunias, lilies; of how much dish soap he would have to use before the bottle ran out; of broken bits of Aunt Petunia's favorite plate; and of how much homework Dudley would finish by morning (the amount of which he himself would do only a little more of). Occasionally, he would smile to himself over a shrunk sweater, silently wonder how his hair grew back so quickly, and talk to snakes at the zoo. These happenings – as well as many similar, unexplainable ones – would often end him locked in his small cupboard under the stairs.

By the time he emerged from his cupboard (for which he was in there for letting a Brazilian boa constrictor loose from the zoo), Aunt Petunia informed him that summer holidays had started and instructed him to weed the garden and hem the bushes. Being summer holidays, Harry wasn't surprised to hear Dudley's and Piers's loud guffaws, along with Dennis', Gordon's, and Malcolm's individual laughs – each varying mixtures of snickering, snorting, and annoying, boyish giggling – come from upstairs. He worked quickly, having plenty of practice through the years of how to identify weeds and pull them without bringing up huge chunks of dirt or harming the flowers. Despite many of the flowers sharing his aunt's name, Harry liked gardening. He was outside and away from Dudley and his aunt and uncle. He wasn't told what not to think, wasn't constantly hounded by insults and criticisms.

Of course, that wasn't always true.

As it happened, Dudley had two rooms. One for all his toys, gadgets, electronics (that usually ended up broken); the other, for where he slept. Both of these were upstairs. The latter was in the front right of the house, the former in the back right. In the hallway, the doors were right next to each other – the rooms adjacent. Dudley and his gang spent most of their indoor time in his toy room, which had a window facing the back yard. Now, in placing her flowers, Petunia had been smart. None of her flowers were in a six foot radius of Dudley's window. Instead, the wall underneath it was hedged by small bushes.

These bushes were in need of a hemming, as Harry had been locked in his cupboard for much longer than he had ever been before and Petunia, despite her efforts, hadn't done the best job at hemming them herself (Harry figured it was because she had been out of practice for so long), not to mention the growth since her last attempt. After finishing the weeds, the sun was high in the sky. Harry grabbed the clippers and started to clip away at an uneven bush.

Harry didn't understand what was so important about keeping a bush trimmed. It was like his hair – always growing back. Sometimes he wondered what would happen if he stopped hemming the bushes all-together. What would happen if he stopped getting hair cuts? He was engrossed in his thoughts and didn't hear the door open until it was slammed shut. A quick glance to the door instead showed him the round bulge of Dudley's stomach, along with four ten-year-old silhouettes.

Harry didn't need to think twice. He dropped the clippers and ran.

A part of Harry told him that it was useless. Dudley's gang was so close already (the loud squishes of young feet against fresh grass told him so), and his only chance of escape was to jump a high wooden fence or somehow find a way to sneak past them to get into the house. Harry didn't like to listen to this part of him.

Instead, he dashed to the end of the yard, the gang at his tail. As he was rapidly nearing the tall fence, he quickly pivoted to run along the side of the fence (his hastily made plan was to run in a large circle and hope the gang was dumb enough to follow him in a straight line so by the time he was heading to the door, they would all be behind him) and fell. Now, he didn't just fall on himself, oh no, he practically _flew_ at the fence. Harry didn't even have time to brace himself before the impending impact, and before he knew it, his face met freshly mowed grass, and his legs felt the tickle of flower petals. But wait, what had just happened? Harry pushed himself from the earth, and glanced behind him.

There was Mr. Jones' side of the fence, painted white.

Mr. Jones was their neighbor. A widower, who's son and his family came to visit him on Christmas and his birthday. Harry hadn't actually set eyes on him, as Mr. Jones never left his house. He hired people to take care of his yard, fetch his groceries, and anything else that required going outside. Harry often contemplated what it would be like to work for Mr. Jones. He figured it would be similar to what he did for his aunt and uncle, but he'd be paid for it. With this thought in mind, Harry stood up.

"What was _that_?" Harry jumped at the sound of Piers' voice from the other side of the fence, and froze, hoping they wouldn't realize where he was.

"Magic. That's what that was," Malcolm's voice replied.

"Don't be stupid. There's no such thing as magic!" Dennis' was shrill, scared. Harry thought he probably said that to reassure himself more than anything.

"Then what the heck do you – Dudley!" The sound of a door slam, and the hurried swoosh of multiple sneakers against grass. The sound of a door opening, swinging, swinging, slamming.

Harry let out an audible sigh of relief. He turned back to the yard he was in, finding it well-trimmed with flowers lining the fence. As soon as he realized where he was standing – in the flowers – he quickly stepped out to avoid causing further damage. Like Harry's own back yard, the only way to get in and out of it was through the back door of the house.

Harry turned around to face the fence he had fell through. He reached out his right hand to touch the fence. It was solid. Harry placed his left hand on the fence next to his right. Still solid. Harry started to panic, feeling the area of the fence that he _must_ have fell through.

He started to move across the wall, to feel the other sections, when he saw something glint at him from underneath the flowers to his right. Momentarily distracted, he moved to his right, knelt down before where he remembered seeing the mysterious glinting, and pulled back the flowers.

A golden necklace with a small hourglass inside it rested on the ground. Harry thought it was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. He reached out and picked it up gently. It was splotched with dirt, most of the gold covered with a filmy layer, but Harry thought it only made the necklace even more beautiful. He wondered how someone with a garden so pristine and well-kept could have something like this laying around in the dirt.

"What the bloody blazes are you doing over there, _boy_?" Uncle Vernon's voice reached his ears in the form of harsh whispers. Harry hastily slid the necklace in the pocket of his oversized jeans and quickly glanced up at his uncle, who was tall enough to look at him from over the fence and so red in the face he was almost purple. "Get back over here! _Now_! Before Mr. Jones realizes you're here."

"I can't," Harry whispered back.

"Oh, yes, you can," Vernon threw his arms over the fence, "Hold on, you worthless freak."

Harry, knowing better than to disobey his uncle, grabbed both of Vernon's hands, which in turn tightened to a death grip on his. Vernon pulled, and Harry was lifted up and over the fence before being dropped – more like thrown, Harry would say – on the ground.

"_In. The. Cupboard._" Vernon ground out, his eyes so narrow Harry could only see scrunched up eyelid.

It was just that morning that he'd been let out, and already he was back in. As he headed towards the familiar staircase, Harry's thoughts entertained the idea of running away. Before he could tell himself the idea was stupid, Harry was rushing to the door.

"GET BACK HERE, YOU WORTHLESS FREAK!"

Harry didn't dare look back, not as he flung open the door, not as he ravaged Aunt Petunia's flowers by trampling through the yard, not as he tried to avoid tripping over his too-large jeans as he sprinted down the sidewalk. He heard his uncle's enraged cursing, could almost feel the lumbering man waddle down the street after him, could hear his aunt's surprised shriek and Dudley's gang calling his name in the background. As it happened, Harry's youth gave him the advantage over his overweight and extremely pissed off uncle. Already Harry could tell that his uncle's footsteps were getting quieter, his voice further away as Harry's own feet pounded against the concrete.

"YOU'LL REGRET THIS, YOU LITTLE – "

Harry heard a hard 'thud', another of Petunia's shrieks (although this one sounded a bit like she was calling his uncle's name), Dudley's exclamation of "Daddy!", and his gang's chorus of "Mr. Dursley!". Seven pairs of feet were pounding down the sidewalk now, but not towards Harry. Still, Harry felt no sense of relief as he continued to race down the street. He was waiting for Petunia's shocked sobbing, Dudley's loud whining, and Vernon's moaning and groaning to fade into nothing. But that never came, at least not until after Harry heard four pairs of sneakers race after him in the distance. It was just like the gang's favorite game, Harry Hunting, except that this time, they were angry. They were no longer just bored and feeling sadistic, no. They were out for revenge, and Harry knew it. Thinking this, he figured there was no room left for doubt in his mind, because he could never go back to the Dursley's.

His vision started to blur, and only then did Harry realize he was crying. He kept running, his forearm wedging in between his face and his glasses to wipe the telling tears away. Why was he crying? Finally, he had been brave enough to run out of the place he had disliked for so long. Surely, there was no reason for him to be sad about it. Especially now, when Dudley's gang was planning on giving him the beating of a lifetime. So, he kept running, and the tears eventually stopped.

When they did, Harry realized that many of the neighbors must have stepped outside their houses to see what was going on, because he heard a few of their voices calling out to him. He thought he heard something about the police being called as he passed a house, but that only made him run faster.

He didn't want to go back. He wouldn't.

He ran, and he ran, and he ran. There was no room for thought, not when he was focusing so hard on the sounds around him, behind him. It was after about fifteen minutes of running that he heard what he'd wanted to:

"Fine, leave! No one liked you anyway!"

One of the four pairs of sneakers slowed, and finally stopped. From the voice, Harry knew it was Gordon. And just like that, the other three slowed as well, and began shouting insults at him and making sure it was very clear that he wouldn't be missed.

Harry smiled, and kept running.

**{...}**

After Dudley's gang was out of sight, Harry started to walk. His legs trembled slightly from running so long, and his thoughts run amok. What was he going to do? He had no place left to go. It was summer holiday, so the school would be closed. All the neighbors would just give him back to the Dursleys, and he didn't want that. He didn't even have any clothes, any belongings. Then Harry remembered the golden necklace.

He dug into his pocket, and pulled it out. It was still as beautiful as when he first found it, although the dirt was smudged. Without thinking, he wiped the dirt off on his shirt. He inspected it, and found dirt wedged in tiny crevices that Harry realized made words. _Flip me thrice._

Harry flipped the necklace three times. Nothing happened. Then Harry flipped the inner layer of the necklace three times. Nothing happened. Harry frowned, then thought that maybe the necklace wouldn't work until he put it on, so he quickly slipped it over his head and flipped the necklace three times. Still, nothing happened. Harry stopped walking, then flipped the inner layer of the necklace three times. The first thing Harry noticed was that the necklace had disappeared into a puff of smoke, and when he looked up, he realized so did everything else.

Smoke was everywhere. White smoke, black smoke, every shade of gray that he ever imagined, or hadn't imagined. And as smoothly as the smoke appeared, so did color. There was yellow smoke, red smoke, blue smoke, purple, green, orange, blue-green, red-violet, yellow-orange – every sort of color he'd learned of in school, and then some. Harry looked back down at where the necklace was supposed to be, and saw the most beautiful golden smoke sift through his hands.

Harry wondered what was going on, and came to the answer quickly: _magic._ _This_ was magic. _This_ was what his aunt and uncle were so afraid of. _This_ was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his life. Harry decided he liked magic.

Slowly, but quickly, the smoke started to become shapes. It started beneath him: rectangle. Then to his side: human silhouette. Then to his front: gate. A gate with words. Harry craned his neck, and watched, transfixed, as the gate became more solid, more real. The words weren't fully solid yet, but Harry could make out "WOOL'S ORPHAN GE" (the "A" in "ORPHANAGE" had become loose and was hanging nearly upside down). After deciphering that, Harry took a moment to look around, and realized that the smoke was nearly done forming. He was on a street, busier than what he was used to, with people dressed like they were from an earlier time, and types of cars he hadn't seen before. Behind the gate was a tall building, which Harry assumed must be the orphanage. He looked back down at his hands, and watched the last of the golden smoke take the familiar shape of the necklace he found in Mr. Jones' garden.

Although this time, Harry noticed something different. The crevices in which the dirt was stuck had disappeared. The edge was smooth.

He looked back up at the gate. Aunt Marge had repeatedly let him know that the Dursleys should have taken him to an orphanage instead of house him themselves. And now, here he was. If there was any place he could run to since leaving the Dursleys, it would be an orphanage.

Harry wanted to keep the necklace a secret, so he took it off and slid it carefully into his jean pocket. It had found him a solution, one he wouldn't soon forget. He was very grateful, and a possessive part of him didn't want the other children messing with it. The necklace knew what it was doing when it had been found by Harry, he thought. It must have known that it could help him and he could keep it safe.

Harry had every intention to keep the necklace safe.

Harry confidently walked up to the gate, and opened it. He noticed that the sky was cloudy, when before it had been sunny. Briefly, he wondered just how far away from Privet Drive he was. He continued his trek, marching straight up to the door. When it came time to knock, he faltered. What was he going to say? _"Hello, my name is Harry Potter and my parents died in a car crash when I was one – that's where I got this cool scar – and I've been forced to live with my horrid aunt and uncle since then and they were mean and horrid so I decided to run away and now I'm here. Please let me stay."_ Even to him, it sounded ridiculous. They would probably try and send him back. Best not to mention Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.

After gulping, Harry rapped the door, hoping it would be enough to let them know he was here. Suddenly, he wondered if he was even supposed to knock. Maybe he could just walk right in and tell them he was an orphan who needed a place to stay. He wondered if orphanages had such things as visiting hours, and if so, when were they? Then, Harry's wondering about orphanages took a decidedly unpleasant turn. What if they didn't have room for him and told him he had to find another place? What if living in an orphanage was actually _worse_ than living with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon? What if there was a bully worse than Dudley? What if there was a bigger gang that went Harry Hunting? What if they were meaner? What if –

The door clicked open.

It was a girl. Older than Harry, but not quite an adult. Her gaze went out to the street a second before glancing down at the small boy. "No parents?"

Harry shook his head, "No relatives, either."

"Better come inside, then," she gestured for him to do so. He did, and stood to the side of the doorway as she closed it behind him.

"MRS. COLE!" She bellowed into the black and white hallway in front of them. Harry could spot a staircase at the end, which was illuminated by the light shining in from the window above the landing area. "MRS. COLE! Oh, come on, we better find her," she grabbed his wrist, and Harry couldn't help but notice how strong her grip was. She lead him down the hallway, knocking on each of the doors and asking the people within if they had seen Mrs. Cole. The girl peeked into an office (at least Harry assumed that was an office; he'd never actually seen one before) that was empty; a kitchen area in which a kind older man smiled at them; a small cafeteria that was also empty; a nursery full of toddlers, babies, and their caretakers; and a classroom full of learning material for all different ages. After getting answers of "haven't seen her since this mornin'", "she was down here just a bit ago", and "she's upstairs", the girl yanked Harry towards the staircase. "MRS. COLE!" The girl bellowed once again, this time as she made her way to the landing.

"Yes, I hear you, Agatha!" A harassed-looking woman shot back as she made her way down the stairs to meet the young girl on the landing. "What is it?" Just as the question left her mouth, she spotted Harry. "Oh." Mrs. Cole's sharp features became worn, as if she had to deal with this situation every other day. For all Harry knew, she did. "What happened to his parents?"

"They died in a car crash." Harry supplied.

"He doesn't have any relatives, either. Or at least he says," Agatha said.

"Right, well, thank you, Agatha. I'll handle it from here." At Mrs. Cole's dismissal, Agatha headed back down the stairs. "Now," Mrs. Cole's sharp features then turned on Harry, "just who are you?"

Harry bowed his head, "Harry Potter."

"Well, Harry Potter, my name is Eleanor Cole, and I'm this orphanage's matron. That girl is Agatha Williams. She helps me keep things clean."

Harry's response was tentative. "Okay."

"Right. Come on, then," she started down the stairs, and Harry followed her into the office. She took a seat behind a cluttered desk, gesturing for Harry to sit across from her. As he did so, the chair shifted its weight onto its front three legs. Mrs. Cole was shuffling through her desk drawers. Eventually, she found what she wanted, laid the paper out on the desk, and scribbled something down.

"Do you have a middle name, Harry?" Mrs. Cole began.

"James. Harry James," Harry answered.

"Harry James Potter," she murmured to herself, then turned back to her paper to scribble some more. "Any idea what your shirt size is, Harry?"

Harry had noticed that all the orphans he saw wore gray tunics. He figured they'd be better to wear than Dudley's old hand-me-downs. "No."

"What about your trouser size?"

"No."

"Right, then. How old are you, Harry?"

"Ten."

"When's your birthday?"

"July the thirty-first."

"Almost eleven, then." Mrs. Cole said, more to herself than him. She looked up at him and Harry could tell she was studying him intently. He pressed down the bangs resting over his scar. After a long while, she spoke. "I need to check something, Harry. I'll be right back." Mrs. Cole stood from her desk, and made her way to the door. "AGATHA!" She bellowed as soon as she was at the doorway.

Harry could hear the girl's footsteps. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Get Harry some clothes. If I'm not back by the time you're through, bring him to Martha," with that settled, Mrs. Cole hurried along her way.

Agatha poked her head into the office. "You heard Mrs. Cole?"

Harry nodded.

"Come along, then," Harry followed Agatha to one of the doors she hadn't opened in her rush to find Mrs. Cole. Apparently, it was a laundry room. There were a few piles of clothes about, divided between the folded and the not folded. Harry spied a large, round, heavy-duty bucket with something that looked like some sort of mixture between a fan and the inside of a vacuum cleaner hanging over it. He spied another bucket with a lid, this one looking even more sturdy than the last. Agatha leafed through the folded piles, glancing back at Harry every now and then. She pulled a gray tunic out of one of the piles, and handed it to Harry. "Try this on."

Harry wondered if Agatha had to do this often, because that tunic fit better than anything he'd ever worn before. Then again, he'd been wearing Dudley's hand-me-downs for all of his life.

"That looks about right." She pulled out two more, roughly the same size as the first and put them aside. She moved on to a second pile, and began leafing through it. This time, she pulled out a pair of trousers. "Try these on."

Harry was glad to already be wearing a tunic as he discarded Dudley's too-big jeans and put on the trousers Agatha gave him.

"Lift up your tunic." As soon as Harry did, Agatha dug a finger in between his skin and his trousers and tugged once, twice, three times. Her hands then made their way down to flap the bottom hem, "You'll grow into them."

Considering Harry'd worn worse-fitting clothes, he was quite content with his new trousers. Even if they didn't fit him as well as the tunic did, he had a belt he could wear.

Agatha began leafing through the trousers pile again, pulling out two more pairs roughly the same size. She moved on to a pile of what Harry could only think of as extremely old-fashioned underwear, and pulled out two identical pairs. They were bodysuits, pale and not quite the white they'd been when new. She gathered the extra tunics on her way to a giant pile of socks, from which she plucked three pairs. She handed the lot to him. "Here, these'll go in your wardrobe. Make sure to mark all of them with your initials. Petra Johnson and I will be doing your laundry every three days. If your laundry's not in the hamper when we come, it won't get clean. Got it?"

Harry nodded and took the clothes she handed to him. He grabbed the discarded hand-me-downs and followed her out of the laundry room and up the stairs. Harry heard muffled voices from behind the closest door to the stairwell, and saw a few older orphans moving a wardrobe down the hallway, as well as several younger ones dash past them toward Harry and Agatha. Agatha opened the door, and Harry could make out a cold voice instructing an orphan (or at least Harry assumed the person was an orphan) not to play outside for a couple days.

"Yes, Martha," the young voice that replied didn't sound too happy about its fate. The group of younger orphans dashed past Harry and Agatha and down the steps.

Harry barely registered what the cold voice said next, as he was watching the young orphans disappear down the stairs. "DON'T RUN INDOORS!" He heard Agatha shout after them.

A girl of about six slowly made her way out of the room, pouting as she passed Agatha and Harry in the doorway. Agatha glared down the stairs for a moment before centering herself and taking a few steps into the room. The room had a desk close to the left wall, with a chair behind it and a chair in front of it, a bookshelf on the wall across from the door, two cots against the right wall and chairs on either side of them. The cold-voiced woman, Martha, was standing next to the chair the young girl had occupied – the one facing the wall behind the desk.

"Doctor, this is Harry Potter. Mrs. Cole told me to bring him up here."

Martha eyed the small form of Harry behind Agatha, "Harry Potter, is it? You're excused, Agatha."

Harry nodded and watched Agatha as she quietly stepped around him and out the door.

"Strip down to your undergarments," Martha's command brought Harry's attention back to the room, "You can put your clothes on one of the cots. You won't be needing them until I'm through with you."

Harry compiled without protest. He'd never been to a doctor before. He wondered if they all made children strip down to their underwear. A large pile of clothes (including the ones he hadn't been wearing) was discarded on the cot closest to Harry. Being in only his y-fronts, Harry felt slightly embarrassed. He noticed Martha's eyes do a quick study of the state he was in, and only then was the feeling put at ease, as the woman held a strict, professional air about her. She made it seem like it wasn't a big deal, which it probably wasn't to her.

Of course, that was the moment Mrs. Cole walked into the room. She glanced from Harry to Martha. "Your analysis?" The matron asked the doctor.

Martha turned her gaze to Eleanor. "Underfed, but the majority of the ones we get are. How old is he?"

It was like Harry wasn't even in the room, let alone in just his y-fronts. "Ten, almost eleven."

Harry watched as Martha lifted her gaze to share a look with Mrs. Cole. He wondered what was so significant about his age. After a moment, the doctor spoke, "Small for his age. I haven't gotten around to checking how accurate a prescription those glasses are, and I doubt they're spot on."

"They'll have to do for now," Mrs. Cole looked at Harry, and unconsciously he stood up straighter at being addressed, "you're able to see all right?"

"Yeah, fine," Harry answered.

"Of course he's going to say that. He probably doesn't remember what it's like to see normally," Martha said.

"Well, at least we know he's not going around completely blind because of our lack of funds," Mrs. Cole returned, "Now is there anything else you need him for or may I go ahead and show him to his room?"

Martha leveled Eleanor with a cool stare before addressing Harry, "Put on your clothes and wait in the hallway for Mrs. Cole." Harry obliged quickly by dressing, grabbing the pile of leftover clothes, and dashing out the door. The hallway was empty.

"Find him another room, Eleanor." Perhaps because there wasn't any noise in the hallway, Harry could clearly hear Martha from behind the door.

"Martha, I understand your feelings, but you know as well as I there _is_ no other room. I've just spoken with Tom. He's assured me he understands the situation."

"It would be in both of their best interests to find Harry another room."

"I refuse to make exceptions for him, Martha. He is just as much an orphan as the rest of them, no matter how much we suspect he scares the other children."

There was a pause. "I have no hope of swaying your mind, do I?"

"No, you don't. At least not in this matter."

Martha's tone spoke of defeat, "Well, it is your call."

"Yes, it is. If you'll excuse me," Harry heard the door open and saw Mrs. Cole step out of the doctor's office. Only now did Harry notice how severe her appearance was. "Come along, Harry."

Harry followed Mrs. Cole down the hallway, wondering what the exchange he'd overheard was about. Apparently, he was going to share a room with a boy named "Tom". The idea of a roommate was very much okay with Harry, considering he'd rather have a room and share it than not have a room at all. He was apprehensive about this "Tom", though. Martha seemed convinced it wouldn't be a good idea for Harry and Tom to share a room, but then again, Mrs. Cole said that Tom said it was okay. Harry didn't know what to think. Truthfully, he was rather confused and overwhelmed by the whole situation. Mrs. Cole stopped in front of a door like any of the others, far down the hallway. Harry stopped beside her.

Mrs. Cole knocked on the door three times before turning the knob herself and opening the door to allow Harry entry. From what Harry could see, there were two twin beds (Harry thought they looked more like the cots in Martha's room than anything he'd seen at the Dursleys'), two bedside tables, and two wardrobes. There was also a boy on one of the beds. His hair was black, like Harry's, but neat, unlike Harry's. He was pale, and had a book out in front of him.

"This is to be your room," Mrs. Cole's voice brought Harry's attention back to her. She then looked to the boy on the bed, "Tom." The boy met her gaze, then looked at Harry, and assessed. "Tom, this is your new roommate, Harry Potter. Harry, this is your new roommate, Tom Riddle."

The boys eyes locked. Tom's eyes were dark, but from the distance, Harry couldn't tell the exact color they were. Tom was also nice to look at. If Tom had been a girl, Harry would've said he was pretty.

"A pleasure to meet you, Harry."

"Yeah. Nice to meet you too, Tom."

With that over, Mrs. Cole continued, "Your belongings go in your wardrobe," she gestured to the small wardrobe on the right, "and remember to label your new clothes with your initials. Supper will start at six o'clock sharp. Welcome to Wool's Orphanage, Harry." Mrs. Cole grimaced, which made her look even more severe. As Mrs. Cole started back down the hallway, Harry realized she might have been trying to smile at him.

"Thank you," he sent after her retreating back. After which, Harry stepped into the room, and shut the door behind him. Once he took a few steps into the room, Harry noticed a good-sized wicker basket in the corner. He looked at Tom, "Do you have a marker?"

Tom didn't look up from his book. "No."

Harry started toward his wardrobe. "A pen?" And opened it with one hand, only to let his new pile of clothes plop down in front of him.

Tom's tone was apprehensive, "No," and only when Harry glanced over at him did Harry realize Tom was staring at him.

"Um, do you know where I could find one?"

Tom regarded Harry a moment before answering, "No."

Harry turned away from the other orphan and searched his wardrobe. It was simple: a thin open area to hang clothes, and two small drawers underneath. Harry grabbed the clothes he inherited from Dudley and threw them into the bottom drawer. They landed with a click. Only then did Harry remember the necklace, and he quickly shut the drawer. Harry wanted to keep the necklace a secret, and it would stay safe in there. Harry had no intention of wearing those clothes again, so there was no need to have Agatha clean them, either.

Harry glanced back at the boy with the book on the bed. There was something about Tom that Harry found familiar. He had a crazy thought that maybe they were long-lost brothers who had been separated when Harry's parents died. Maybe the Dursleys sent Tom to an orphanage under the name "Riddle" so they would only have to deal with one child, and that was why they couldn't bring Harry to an orphanage – because he would reunite with his brother! After all, if he reunited with his brother, he'd be happy, and the Dursleys certainly didn't want Harry's happiness.

A part of Harry knew the idea was far-fetched, but there was a larger part of Harry that enjoyed the story. Harry always wanted a brother.

"I'm going to look for a pen," Harry announced to his long-lost brother, closed his wardrobe doors, and headed out the door.

**{Notes}** I plan for this story to be pretty long. Ideas and predictions are welcome, as well as constructive criticism.


	2. Tom

**{Disclaimer} **HARRY POTTER, characters, names and related indicia are trademarks of and © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. Harry Potter Publishing Rights © JKR. I'm not exactly sure who owns the rights to Frankenstein, but I do know it's not me.

As soon as Harry was out the door, he heard the distinctly close sound of thundering footsteps drawing near and all too soon felt the weight of two boys crash into him. It sent him tumbling to the ground and his glasses flying across the hallway. Unfortunately that caused the running boys to fall as well, and there was a muffled thud as one fell on top of Harry's collapsed form, the other tripping on the pair and falling across the hallway floor.

The boys shared a groan before Harry felt the boy on top of him shift and his weight disappear. By the time Harry managed to sit up, glasses were shoved in front of his face. He took them, muttered "thanks", and put them on as he stood up.

"Sorry about that." With his glasses in place, Harry looked at the boys in front of him. One had sandy blonde hair and the other a dark chocolate brown mop that looked more mess than hair. Both of them had freckled complexions. The brown haired one was about the same height as Harry, the blonde was taller. The messy, brown haired boy spoke, "You're new, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, rubbing his sore side, "I thought you weren't supposed to run in the hallway."

The blonde boy smiled, "As long as Dictator Cole isn't in sight, you're golden," the boy leaned in to whisper the next part, "The workers here feel sorry enough for you they don't rat."

"Oh." Harry distinctly recalled Agatha yelling at a bunch of kids not to run inside, so he didn't know what to make of the boy's words. Perhaps Agatha was new enough that the boy didn't know she didn't let them get away with it like the other workers.

"So what's your name?" The brunette asked.

"I'm Harry. I'm looking for a pen."

The blonde answered, "Pleasure to meet you, Harry. I'm Donovan, and this here's James."

"What're you looking for a pen for?" James asked.

"To label my clothes," Harry answered.

"I can get you one. I nicked one from Cole last week," Donovan grinned, "Come on," and quickly made his way past Harry's door and the one next to it. He stopped in front of the door after the next, Harry right next to James, who was right behind Donovan. Donovan opened the door and the three made their way inside.

Donovan's room looked exactly the same as Tom's and Harry's, except it was messier and the window looked out toward different buildings. The beds were made, but sloppily. Dirty clothes were hanging off the laundry hamper's sides; a few socks didn't even make it in. An accumulation of trash rested on one of the bedside tables, and when Donovan went to open his wardrobe, Harry noticed that the door was hanging on a bit looser than it should. "Here," Donovan held out a thick fountain pen, which Harry gladly took. Harry watched as Donovan picked up a worn tennis ball from his wardrobe and tossed it to James, who caught it easily. "You can bring the pen back here when you're done with it." Donovan and James started back to the door.

Harry followed the two out of the room. "Okay."

Donovan flashed Harry a grin, "See you later, Harry," and raced back down the hallway.

"Bye, Harry," James added, before following Donovan in the race to wherever it was they came from.

"Bye," Harry called back to their retreating forms.

Well, that was easier than he thought it would be. Harry walked back towards his and Tom's room. So far the orphanage didn't seem so bad. Harry couldn't say that he loved it, but it was better than the Dursleys and he may have even found his long lost brother. When Harry opened the door to his room and stepped inside, Tom was exactly where he'd been before: on his bed, reading. He glanced up at Harry when the door opened, then returned his attention back to his book.

Harry went to his wardrobe, opened it, and grabbed the article of clothing resting at the top of the pile inside. It was one of the tunics, and when Harry pressed it against the back of the wardrobe, Harry could make out faded initials on the inside of the collar that had been heavily crossed out. He couldn't tell what the letters had said, but it was enough to make him wonder how many orphans this orphanage had to take care of. Slowly and clearly, he wrote "HP" on the right of the last crossed out pair of initials. Then, he hung up his tunic.

This process was repeated for each of his tunic shirts, trousers, and old-fashioned underwear. The tunics and trousers each shared a hanger (Harry had to hang the trousers underneath the tunics after the tunics were already hung up – something that was harder than it seemed), and the undergarments went in the drawer above Dudley's old clothes. After finishing that up, Harry headed back out of the room to return the fountain pen to Donovan's. He ended up leaving it on one of the bedside tables – the cleaner one – and, with no more business there, headed back out of the room.

In the hallway, he saw a young boy dash by. He wasn't exactly running, but was certainly walking faster than normal. It made Harry wonder if running in the upstairs hallway was the norm, as it definitely seemed to be to Harry. He started back to Tom's and his room, opened the door and stepped inside.

Yet again, Tom was on his bed, reading. Harry wondered if Tom read every day, because if he did, Harry wondered when he would have a chance to approach Tom about his long-lost brother theory. Somehow, he knew that waiting for Tom to talk to him was useless. So, he took the initiative and talked to Tom.

"What are you reading?"

Tom's gaze blinked to Harry. The gaze was unwavering, fixed into Harry's own. If Harry had been someone else, he might have labeled the gaze as creepy. He felt exposed, as if Tom's dark eyes could see right into his soul. Harry was slightly unnerved by it, but he reminded himself that this might be his brother. The sensation of familiarity was still there, still strong. There was no reason to be scared. Bravely, he stared back at Tom, right into his eyes.

"Frankenstein," Tom answered. The book itself was worn and battered from years of being handled by children who had been unnecessarily rough. Harry noticed that Tom was holding the book with immense care, as if it might fall apart at the next less than gentle movement.

"Oh," Harry didn't know much about the book. He knew that Frankenstein was a sort of monster kids dressed up as for Halloween; that's it. "Do you like it?"

Tom didn't hesitate to answer, "No."

"Oh. Why are you reading it?"

Tom's gaze went back down to the book for a moment, almost as if he was calculating how long until he'd be able to read again. "It's interesting."

"Oh." Despite the feeling of familiarity, Harry thought talking to his long-lost brother was hard. He'd never had to try so much to just talk to someone before. If it was anyone else, Harry probably wouldn't give so much effort. Harry felt a little frustrated.

Tom's gaze looked into Harry once again and Harry moved to sit on his bed, facing Tom. Harry could hear the faint, muffled sound of a baby crying. Tom returned his attention to his book.

They stayed like that for a while – Tom reading, Harry shifting every so often to lay down and stare at the uninteresting ceiling, or to sit up and stare at the slightly more interesting door. Somewhere, a clock tower rang out loud enough for Harry to hear it in the orphanage. It rang once, twice, thrice, four times in all. Of course, while Harry was looking at the ceiling or the door, that wasn't all he was doing. He was thinking. After quite the silence, Harry decided to speak.

"Tom, when's your birthday?" Harry asked the door.

The voice that answered was bemused and apprehensive, as if Tom didn't know what to make of Harry. "December the thirty-first. Why?"

Harry counted how many months apart they were. Five or seven, depending on which direction you counted from. "How long are women pregnant for?"

"Why are you asking?"

Harry was still staring at the door. "I think we might be brothers." But glanced over at Tom after speaking.

Tom's eyes were narrowed. "Do you?" It was here Harry first learned of one of Tom's many abilities: to declare someone an idiot by tone alone.

Harry refused to be intimidated. "Yeah, I do."

"What year were you born, Harry?"

"Nineteen eighty," Harry said.

Whatever Tom had expected to be Harry's answer, it wasn't that. There was a beat, and then, "Nineteen eighty."

Harry's brow furrowed, "Yeah. July thirty-first, nineteen eighty. Why? When were you born?"

Tom took a moment to study Harry. Once again, Harry felt as if exposed. And once again, Harry bravely met Tom's soul-seeing gaze. After a beat, Tom seemed to have made his mind up about something. "Harry, what year is it?" He asked.

Harry thought this a rather silly question, as everybody knew what year it was. Harry attempted to mimic the tone Tom used to declare Harry an idiot in every way but his words. "Nineteen ninety one."

Tom looked at Harry with a sort of admiration unique to Tom: a mixture of approval, curiosity, and interest (which, of course, only managed to confuse Harry further). Carefully, the pale boy closed the open book in his hands. Harry noticed that Tom hadn't placed a bookmark in between the pages before closing the book, despite being in the middle of it. _Frankenstein; or, A Modern Prometheus_ was set on the bedside table as Tom moved from his bed to his wardrobe. Harry noted that Tom was rather tall – especially compared to Harry's small frame, if the comparison to the wardrobes was anything to go by.

Despite being roughly the same dimensions as Harry's, Tom's wardrobe didn't have any drawers, and had only one door. The taller boy opened his wardrobe and Harry could see Tom's own gray articles of clothing hung up, and a thin cubbyhole on top of that. The cubbyhole appeared to be home to several sheets of varying types of paper, which was what Tom was apparently after. Harry could tell the top paper wasn't a normal sheet of paper, but a full newspaper.

Tom handed the newspaper to Harry, and put the rest of the stack back in the wardrobe's cubbyhole. "That's from yesterday."

It was an edition of _The Daily Telegraph and Morning Post_. "'Local Businessman Saves Life of Orphan'?" Harry inquired aloud, skimming the article which told the story of an orphan who was pushed out of a window and caught by a local businessman. The fall was broken, therefore the orphan's life was saved. There were other articles, of course, mostly about community events and –

A relatively long finger came into Harry's line of sight and pointed to the upper right hand corner of the paper, in which it clearly stated: _22 July, 1938_.

Harry stared at the two offending letters that read the obviously wrong '38' instead of the correct '91'. "Yesterday," he repeated, then glanced back up at Tom.

"Yesterday," Tom confirmed.

Harry looked back at the date on the newspaper. All he could think of was the golden necklace hidden in the bottom drawer of his wardrobe. It was obvious to him what happened: he had not only traveled across land, but he had traveled across _time_.

"How did you come here?" Tom asked.

Harry kept his gaze on the newspaper. He couldn't tell Tom about the necklace, especially now that he knew they weren't brothers after all. Although, if they weren't brothers, why was the sense of familiarity there? Perhaps Tom was his grandfather? An uncle? If he was, he must have died before Harry turned one, or else Harry would've been able to live with Tom instead of the Dursleys, which he would've taken any day. Perhaps the necklace belonged to Tom, which was why he was brought back to this time and somehow the necklace made it so Harry could tell who its owner was. Although Harry didn't like that theory. He still wanted to keep the necklace his secret.

Harry glanced up at Tom, who was staring at him as if expecting something. An explanation, right. "I don't know," Harry said, adverting his gaze.

Tom's eyes narrowed darkly, as if he could tell Harry wasn't being completely truthful. "Liar."

Harry returned his gaze to face Tom's own, "I'm not lying."

"Yes, you are." Tom had obviously made up his mind about the situation. "How did you come here?"

Harry didn't answer. He didn't want to. He glared up at Tom, and realized he didn't much like the taller orphan. "Like I'm going to tell you."

Tom smirked a small, but unmistakably superior smirk that just screamed 'I told you so'. Harry heard the distinct click of a doorknob locking to his left, from where their room's door was. He glanced over there: there was no one. Harry couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled within him as he looked back at Tom, who still wore that superior smirk. Slowly, that smirk shifted into focus as Tom continued to stare at Harry. Harry felt something odd wash over him – not physically, but mentally.

"Now," Tom started, and Harry couldn't shake the distinct surreal quality the room had suddenly taken. Tom continued in a tone that simply needed to be obeyed, _tell me_. The command must have come out of Tom's mouth, for it moved along with the words, but Harry could've sworn it had been in his mind. _Tell him_, his mind traitorously suggested. _**Tell him.**_

"No! Stop it!" Harry exclaimed, eyes wide with fear, up at Tom, who's own eyes widened in surprise, and whatever had washed over Harry was suddenly gone, as if it was never there in the first place.

Harry panted, and continued to stare at Tom, who in turn stared right back at Harry. Both of them were wide-eyed, and completely focused on the other. Harry, no longer lulled into the sense of surreal security, was terrified. Briefly, he remembered one of his earlier worries about the orphanage, and realized something. There _was_ a bully worse than Dudley at the orphanage, and his name was Tom Riddle. The creepiest part of all was the lingering sense of familiarity Harry felt between him and Tom. He could no longer take comfort in it, if he ever could. And yet, Harry felt oddly closer to Tom, as if the fear had made a connection.

Harry couldn't tell how long they had stayed like that. Eventually, Tom broke the silence.

"You're different," he said.

"Yeah. So are you," Harry countered.

Tom ignored Harry's words. Instead, it seemed Tom's eyes had caught something on his fore –

Harry slapped a hand over his scar, which only managed to peak Tom's interest more. The taller boy grabbed Harry's wrist to pull the hand over the scar away, and used his free hand to push Harry's unruly bangs back to give him a full view of Harry's forehead. Harry watched Tom as he studied the lightning bolt scar.

"I got it in a car crash," Harry said, as if the mundane origins would turn Tom off of it, and for a moment he thought they would. For that moment, Tom returned his attention on Harry himself, before glancing back up at the scar.

Harry's hopes were short-lived as Tom pronounced him, "Liar."

Tom's response probably shouldn't have taken Harry by surprise, but it did. Harry glared. "I'm telling the truth this time."

Tom looked back at Harry, and this time Harry welcomed those all-seeing eyes. He didn't look away as he remembered he was still holding onto the newspaper. While keeping hold of the other boy's gaze, Harry held the newspaper out to Tom with his free hand. "Here."

After a moment of stiff silence, Tom let go of Harry and took the newspaper. And after another moment of staring at Harry, Tom moved to return it to the cubbyhole in his wardrobe.

Well, at least now Harry had some understanding of why Martha had insisted on him having a different room. 'We suspect he scares the other children,' Mrs. Cole had said. Harry wasn't the first person Tom had attempted to control. Tom had seemed surprised when Harry spoke out. Perhaps he wasn't used to his methods not working? That had to be it. Tom had said 'you're different', like he was realizing Harry wasn't just another orphan – time traveling aside – so that must be it! Harry studied Tom, who had relocated to sit on his bed opposite Harry. Tom regarded Harry in return.

"Let's be friends," Tom proposed in all seriousness.

Harry's eyebrows disappeared beneath his unruly hair. Tom had to be kidding. Of course, Tom didn't seem the type to kid about things like that, or to kid in general. Briefly, Harry wondered what sort of friend Tom would make. Wait, did Tom even have friends?

Harry could hear laughter coming from the hallway as a couple of orphans passed. Harry felt like they were a world away from him and Tom, as if the door to their room wasn't just a door, but a portal.

The first instinct Harry had was to say no. After what Tom had just done – which had most certainly terrified him to the point of holding a strong dislike for Tom – there was no doubt in Harry's mind that he deserved nothing less. And yet, Harry was supposed to share a room with this boy for the next seven, eight years of his life! Well, perhaps not that long, but Harry had received the impression that the orphanage was short on living spaces, so if he was ever going to be relocated, it certainly wouldn't be soon. And he could try to flip the golden necklace again. Perhaps it would take him to somewhere different, somewhere Tom Riddle was not. It was worth a shot, but not while Tom was around, of course.

Speaking of Tom, he was expecting some sort of reply. Harry had never had a friend before, not a real one anyway. The part of him that wasn't upset at or scared of Tom told him it would be good to have a friend, even one like Tom Riddle. Harry breathed and answered with a quick "Okay" which put a smile on Tom's face. Seeing Tom smile, Harry smiled back. It was odd, sharing a smile with a boy who had tried to control him just a few minutes ago, but not completely unpleasant.

**{…}**

Harry spent the rest of the afternoon with Tom. Tom recounted to him the rules of the orphanage, asked numerous questions about the future, and made it very clear to Harry that the other orphans were not worth his time or attention. If Harry ever needed anything, he could come to Tom. Harry answered as best he could about the future, and told Tom how his parents had died in a car crash and how he had lived with his aunt, uncle, and cousin prior to traveling back in time. Harry told Tom about running away, but when it came to the part with the necklace, Harry quickly changed the subject and started to tell the story of the Brazilian boa in the zoo.

Tom was a good listener, Harry decided. He always let Harry say whatever Harry wanted to say, and replied when appropriate. Although with this story, Tom didn't hesitate to interrupt.

"You can talk to snakes?"

Harry nodded, "Yeah." He figured after time traveling, talking to snakes was relatively normal. Tom let Harry finish the story, and at the end of it, Tom was smiling.

Tom told Harry of how his mother had died giving birth to him at the orphanage, and that he'd been there ever since.

Harry didn't express any pity, for Tom hadn't pitied him, and Harry knew Tom would want to be treated the same. So Harry listened patiently.

Tom told Harry that they were different from the other orphans, and better than them because of it.

Harry said he didn't think so. He told Tom how Donovan and James had lent him a pen.

Tom responded ominously, telling Harry to just wait until they realize who Harry was sharing a room with. Tom went on to say that in all the years he's been there, he'd never seen an orphan who wasn't scum – until Harry, that was.

Harry didn't know whether to be flattered or, well, sad. He didn't want to pity Tom – or any of the other orphans, really – he reminded himself, so he decided to be flattered.

The clock tower rang out. This time, it rang five times.

**{…}**

Tom was excellent at keeping track of time internally, Harry deemed, because as soon as they walked up to the counter to receive their supper in the dining hall, Harry heard the clock tower begin its series of six rings to signify six o'clock had arrived.

Harry heard thunderous, hurried footsteps as orphans burst into the dining hall, scrambling to get into the line behind Tom and Harry. The first one to get there was a relatively young orphan (Harry guessed he was about eight). The second was a girl about Tom's height and wasn't paying close enough attention to where she was going. She knocked into the young boy, who in turn bumped against Harry, who in turn brushed up against Tom. The look Tom sent the young boy and the tall girl sent chills down Harry's spine, and reminded him of the fear he felt a few hours ago in the room he shared with Tom.

The kindly older man behind the counter was the same one Harry saw in the kitchen area Agatha had visited in her search for Mrs. Cole earlier that day. He smiled at Harry after Tom had left with his food, and Harry smiled back as the older man handed him his food on a wooden tray. Briefly, Harry wondered if Tom thought the orphanage workers were just as bad as the orphans themselves.

With food in hand, Harry turned and quickly scanned the dining hall. The orphans in line were chattering noisily, all of the rectangular tables were empty except for one near the middle (where Tom sat), and Harry spotted a door on the far wall – one to the outside. It was closed, and Harry could see through the windows that it had started to rain.

As Harry made his way toward Tom and sat down next to him, Harry noticed a significantly less amount of background noise. He looked up from his food and noticed to his chagrin that a good amount of the children were staring at him. He spotted Donovan and James, who were both agape. James turned to whisper something to Donovan, to which Donovan closed his mouth and nodded grimly. One of the girls around them joined in on the conversation, but Harry couldn't tell what she was saying.

Harry looked back down at his food, and decided to ignore the other orphans and tuck in. Tom hadn't started eating yet, which Harry noticed after his third bite, and caused him to glance over to his right at the taller orphan.

Tom was _reading_. Harry hadn't seen Tom bring the book in, but there he was with _Frankenstein _in his hands. A part of Harry was glad Tom was ignoring the whispering and murmuring going on around them. Another part had found confirmation: Tom did indeed read often.

The tables in the dining hall began to fill, and Harry noticed the other chairs around their table stayed empty.

A voice came from his left, calling out his name. It was Donovan, who hadn't sat down yet and was standing next to Harry's table flanked by James and the girl Harry had noticed in the line. "I-I, well, we-we wa-wanted to in-inviteyoutositwithus," he finished all in one hurried breath, red in the face. If Harry hadn't known better, he would've thought Donovan was shy.

"Thanks, but I think I'll stay here with Tom," Harry replied, glancing at the boy across from him. Tom was still looking at his book, but he wore an unmistakable smirk of triumph.

Harry noticed quite a few orphans were watching the interaction. "We-well, just for – for future reference, you don't have to sit wi-with him," the girl spoke up, "I mean, you shouldn't feel as though you have to have only o-one friend." She was looking at Harry with concern, silently pleading with him to come with them and stay away from the obvious danger. James was deathly white and looked ready to bolt at the slightest shift from Tom.

"Really, I'm okay here," Harry insisted.

The trio were hesitant to leave. All three of their faces made it obvious they wanted to save Harry from the evil that was Tom Riddle, but it was painfully obvious they didn't know how past politely asking Harry to join them for lunch. Tom, probably having decided the other orphans were past their due to leave, carefully closed his book. As soon as the group spotted Tom move, they raced for a table away from Tom's and Harry's.

With the encounter over, Harry was more aware than ever of all the eyes on him. He could hear whispers from a few of the tables closer to him and Tom. To him, they were louder than Aunt Petunia's shrieking.

"Do you think he knows?"

"Maybe Billy should say something."

"His name's Harry?"

"Of course he doesn't."

"Someone should tell him."

"He's new, arrived just today."

"_No one_ sits next to Tom Riddle."

"Yeah, Harry. Harry Potter."

"No, not Billy. _Dennis_ should say something."

"Amy –"

"Poor kid. Probably has no idea what he's getting into."

"– hasn't been the same –"

"What's Tom want with him anyway?"

"– ever since –"

"Harry."

Harry looked up from his food to stare at Tom, who had called out his name. Dark eyes studied Harry a moment.

"Eat," Tom commanded.

Harry ate, thankful for the diversion. He ate and ate and drank, until his food was all gone and there was nothing else to distract him from the outside world. He glanced over at Tom's tray, which still had a bit of food on it. Thankfully, when Harry looked about the dining hall this time, most of the staring had stopped.

Harry should be used to this. He was ridiculed at school thanks to Dudley and his gang. Although, somehow, this didn't seem the same. It was too much too soon. This whole experience was too much too soon. Harry stood, grabbed his tray, and brought it back over to the counter. The kindly older man was out of sight, so Harry made his way around the counter, through a knob-less door that opened when he pushed to show the kitchen area, and eventually found what he was looking for: the sink. A girl around Agatha's age was washing the dishes, oblivious to his presence. The kindly older man was doing something on the other side of the room. Harry spotted a stack of trays next to a stack of dishes. He set his tray on top of the others, grabbed his dishes, and started to help her.

He put it out of mind when he didn't see her hands anymore. He was fine washing the dishes. In fact, contrary to earlier experiences, he was enjoying it; he got away from the whispering and staring, after all, and it made everything seem normal again.

"Excuse me," the girl said, and when Harry turned to look up at her, she had one eyebrow raised, but looked relatively good-natured, "that's my job."

Harry suddenly felt embarrassed. Tom had told him the orphans weren't supposed to in the way of the workers. The orphans weren't supposed to wash the dishes. That was what workers were for. Mrs. Cole wasn't Uncle Vernon, after all.

"Sorry," Harry hung his head, "I'll just – leave."

"Hold on," the kindly older man said, causing Harry to pause in his tracks and look back at the cook. "Harry, isn't it?"

Harry nodded.

He smiled a kind smile. "Thank you for the help, Harry."

Harry, still quite embarrassed, hurriedly made his way out of the kitchen, back around the counter, and out of the dining hall. He almost ran up the stairs, and hastily made his way to his and Tom's room –

Except there was a group of about four or five orphans waiting for him on the staircase's landing, one of whom he nearly ran into.

"Harry," it was a face he didn't recognize, but he knew the voice as one of the ones he overheard whispering, "stay away from Tom Riddle."

"He's a devil child," another orphan spoke up, a boy this time, "If you don't get away now, he'll curse you forever!"

"Harry, listen to me." It was the girl who had spoken before. "He's done something funny to both Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop, and Billy Stubb's rabbit –"

"– was hung from the rafters a day after he and Billy had a row," another orphan jumped in, "and –"

"And we don't want to see you –"

But the girl was cut off at the sound of footsteps nearing, and she grew pale with fear at the sight of something over Harry's shoulder. Harry didn't have to look back to know Tom was making his way up the stairs. The orphans quieted and moved out of Tom's way as he continued his trek up the stairs.

Harry followed him.

**{…}**

Once they were back in their room, Harry flopped onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. He kicked off his trainers and his socks, and sat back up to watch as Tom sat down on his own bed and placed _Frankenstein; or, A Modern Prometheus_ on his bedside table.

The clock tower rang out. Harry flopped back down and counted the number in his head: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Tom said the lights went out at eight, well over an hour before sunset. Although, to be honest, Harry wouldn't mind falling asleep right then to wake up back at Privet Drive. Well, not completely honest, Harry supposed. He didn't miss the Dursleys. Not really. What he missed was the familiarity, the sense that he knew the people around him, even if he didn't like them. The sense of normality, of predictability. Now, Tom was the only thing which felt familiar to Harry, and he was neither normal or predictable.

Harry sighed. How was he going to deal with this? Maybe he should just forget about Tom knowing about the necklace and just try it now. Even after all that had happened, Harry still didn't want to let Tom know about the necklace. He didn't want to let anyone know about it.

Harry breathed, and broke the silence, "They're scared of you, Tom."

"I know," came the easy reply.

"They told me to stay away from you," Harry said.

"Your point, Harry?" Tom asked.

Harry paused for a beat. "I can trust you, right?" He was almost scared of the answer.

"Yes." Tom said. "Yes, you can."

**{Notes}** Just wanna let all y'all know that this chapter had a lot of Tom in it (not that you would know from the title, hur, hur), and Tom is one difficult sonofabitch to write. (And yet he's one of my favorites. Coincidence? I think not.)

Anyway, I hope you guys liked it. Any feedback, ideas, etc. is, of course, welcome.

Oh, and if any of you would be interested in betaing this story, feel free to contact me. Mostly I'm looking for someone who can offer me in-depth feedback on my chapters, as well as proper brit-picking, and letting me know about any blaring historical inaccuracies. Once we get to (spoiler alert!) Hogwarts, the historical part really won't be much of an issue, so that's really not that big of a deal. Just putting this out there, in case anyone is interested.


	3. Dumbledore

Harry had been at Wool's Orphanage for nearly a fortnight. After a while, the other children had realized he wasn't going to stop being Tom's friend, and learned to avoid him as much as they had Tom. In a way, Harry liked it that way, because it made things easier and he wasn't a target for bullying - at least, so he thought.

For the first few days they didn't know what to do with him, and in those days, Harry had stuck by Tom for as long as he could, knowing that as long as he was with the other boy the other children wouldn't bother him about, well, him. Harry got to witness first hand what it was like being around Tom in that orphanage. The aura of fear that followed the boy around wherever he went was something he relied on so he wouldn't be approached more than normal. Whenever he was with Tom, he was safe from questions.

When he wasn't, well, sometimes he'd go to the loo by himself and it was those small times that he would be cornered by other students. They would pressure him in all sorts of ways: don't hang out with him, Harry; stay away from him, Harry; stop him from doing anything worse than what's already happened, Harry; put a spider in his shoe, Harry.

He didn't admit he was a little tempted to do that last one, if only for a laugh. But that was a terrible idea, because Tom didn't take well to joshing. That was something he knew more than anything about his friend. Tom took everything so seriously...

One day the girl who'd been something of a leader to all those other orphans that first supper talked to him.

"You don't know anything, you know," She said to him, "You have no idea what's he done to any of us, to all of us. You don't know him, Harry. Ask him about it, sometime, what he did to Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop. Try asking him what he thinks of Billy Stubbs, and make sure to mention the rabbit. He won't admit anything to the Matron but we all know he did it. He knows he did it. Half of us think he's possessed."

At first Harry wasn't sure how to approach it, but he knew Tom had been able to tell the other kids had said something. One night before dinner when Tom and Harry were in their room, Tom was the one who spoke first.

"I know they talk to you. They tell you I'm dangerous. Different, that I've done evil to their friends. But that's wrong, Harry. They're all wrong, they're always wrong and they don't know anything."

"They say you're a devil child, that you're possessed."

Tom smiled at that, something bitter and gritting, "And that's rubbish. I am nothing if not myself."

It sounded like something from a book. "Am I supposed to believe that? Believe what you say without questioning?"

"Yes," said Tom, looking back at his book, "Because we are friends."

"What about Amy Benson? Was she your friend?"

Tom shut his book, and set it on his bedside table. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and stood. He walked over to where Harry was sitting, and stood right in front of him, holding his eyes from above. "I already told you the other children are nothing, nothing in comparison to me. And, now, us. You are like me, Harry. You must learn to control it, hone it, like me. I thought I was the only one, but then you showed up. You can control people too, Harry. Together we'll be unstoppable, I know it.

"I can teach you, if you'd like."

"Teach me what?"

"To _encourage_ the other children. I can make them fear you as much as they do me, if you want." A fire seemed to light behind Tom's eyes at that, an excitement that made a smile spread across his face. Something manic and dark and _happy._

"You did it on purpose."

It was out of Harry's mouth before he could properly think it through, a realization stumbling out onto his tongue and it hung in the air as Harry seemed to look at the boy in front of him with new eyes.

"It's the easiest way. They had to be punished for what they said somehow, and the staff never does it right. They never do anything. If you want something done, you have to do it yourself. This is only the beginning, Harry."

"You just want to control them for your own -"

There were two knocks at the door.

"Tom, Harry? The both of you have got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberton - sorry, Dunderbore. He's come to tell you - well, I'll let him do it."

The boys had both locked their eyes on the man that made his way inside as Mrs. Cole closed the door behind him. He wore a suit - plum and made of velvet - and his beard was auburn and his hair long. His beard was enormous - the biggest Harry had ever seen! And there was a smile on his face.

"How do you do, Tom? Harry?" The man said, holding out his hand.

Neither Harry nor Tom smiled back. Tom stepped forward to shake the outstretched hand, and Harry stood up to follow suit and shake it after Tom had his turn. Both boys were apprehensive, and Harry thought Tom seemed rather stiff, the look in his eyes strange.

"I am Professor Dumbledore." The man introduced himself, as he pulled up a chair in between their beds and took a seat as if he were intended to stay for a chat. Harry sat back down on his bed and Tom retreated to his own, relaxing against the headboard and drawing his legs out as if he weren't bothered this stranger was in his private space.

"'Professor'?" Tom repeated, "Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did _she_ get you in to have a look at me? At _us?_" The taller boy was pointing at the door Mrs. Cole had closed just a moment earlier.

"No, no," Dumbledore was still smiling, Harry noted. It put him at ease, and Harry smiled back in relief that whatever Tom was fearing, the man wasn't here for.

Tom, however, wasn't convinced. "I don't believe you. She wants me looked at, doesn't she? And now Harry, too. Martha isn't proper enough a doctor to know all _she_ wants to know, is that it? To figure out where he came from? Tell the truth!"

The note rang out like a furious demand. A _command_, as though Tom had shouted this many times prior. Harry hadn't heard Tom shout so loud before, hadn't heard such _force_ from the boy before, and was stunned into silence. Catching a glance, Harry saw that Tom's eyes had widened and he was glaring outright at this man who was still smiling despite all that. After a very tense moment between the Professor and the tall boy, Tom stopped glaring only to look warier than ever.

"Who are you?"

"I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer the both of you a place at my school - your new school, if you would like to come." The last part was directly aimed to Tom, and perhaps that was why Tom leapt from the bed and backed as far away from Dumbledore as he could.

"You can't kid me! The asylum, that's where you're from, isn't it? 'Professor,' yes, of course - well, I'm not going, see? And neither is Harry!"

And that's when Harry realized he was still in the room, as Tom's eyes trained on him. Harry could see how scared Tom was, how terrified, and he didn't move.

"I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop," Tom continued, quieter and firm, "You can ask them, they'll tell you! And Harry's parents died in a car crash. A proper car crash, you can't take him away just because there's no records! I heard them talking, I know they think he'll end up like me, but there's nothing wrong with me. I'm not mad!"

"Hogwarts is not a place for mad people," Dumbledore returned, still smiling. Harry wondered if his face was like that naturally, "I assure you, I am not from the asylum. I am a teacher, and if you would sit down calmly, like your very well-behaved friend over here, I shall tell you all about Hogwarts, and exactly why it's not a place for mad people. You, of course, shall have the choice of attending or not. Nobody will force you to go -"

"I'd like to see them try," Tom sneered.

"Hogwarts," Dumbledore said over the end of Tom's sentence, "is a school for those with special abilities - and before you say anything more, Mr. Riddle - I assure you it is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic."

On the word magic, Harry's eyes widened. Tom was looking at Dumbledore, his eyes flitting back and forth across Dumbledore's face, as if trying to catch him in a lie.

"Magic?" Harry said it first, asked first, "But there's no such thing -"

"It's magic, what we can do?" Tom spoke over Harry's next words, because he knows Harry knows better.

"That's right." Dumbledore smiled afresh, and turned his eyes over to Harry. They twinkled like starlight. "Magic exists, Harry Potter, and you are a strange and curious anomaly, my lad, whose very presence aids to prove that fact. You know better than I how you came to be here, and I would very much like to know the answer myself, as I'm sure your friend Mr. Riddle would agree with me."

"Oh," Harry responded, feeling reprimanded for the lie he implied earlier. "Sorry, it's just... Magic isn't supposed to exist, is it? But... Oh." Suddenly Harry realized something. If this man was here and knew he wasn't supposed to be here, this man must know he was in the wrong time.

Tom was looking at him, now, as though the roles were reversed and Harry was the one Dumbledore was talking to.

"You, my boy, know better than either of us how your presence came to be. But first, let me explain what I know, to make it clear to you how I came to the both of you. You see, Hogwarts possesses a very powerful sort of magic that identifies any and all magical children born that are eligible to be enrolled into Hogwarts the next year. About a fortnight ago, the name of someone who was not yet born simply appeared on the class roster. I apologize for the delay in my arrival, Harry, but it had taken this long to locate you. Little did I know you were roomed with another magical child, and yet here you are. Quite simply, you are improbable. I can only guess you stumbled upon a very powerful piece of time magic, a form of magic that has very strict regulations.

"Now, may I see it?"

Harry wanted to shake his head and say no, but from the way Dumbledore had worded the question he didn't think he had a choice. Tom was staring at Harry as well, as though enthralled in this little detail he'd missed.

"See what?" Harry played innocent instead.

"The artifact responsible for your presence," Dumbledore responded simply, not buying the innocence. "Your friend and I are both very interested in seeing it."

Tom's eyes shot to Dumbledore's face upon his acknowledgement, but Dumbledore simply looked to Harry to produce it.

Although he didn't want to show it, it felt to Harry like he had no choice. So he stood up from his bed and made his way to his wardrobe, digging into Dudley's old hand-me-downs, only...

"It's gone!" Harry let out, starting to search more frantically. "The necklace - it's gone!"

"So it's a necklace, is it? Tell me, Harry, what did it look like?"

"But it can't be gone! No one here ever saw it! I'm the only one who even knows about it!"

"It's all right, Harry. I have a feeling I know who took your necklace." And though Harry didn't see it, Dumbledore gave Tom a very pointed stare.

Which rallied Tom to respond, "If you're really from a school of magic, prove it."

"If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts -"

"Of course I am!"

"Then you will address me as 'Professor' or 'sir'."

Another moment hung in the air, and Harry knew that Tom did not wish to give any amount of respect to this man, had no respect for him, only perhaps saw him as a means to an end. That's why it surprised him when Tom replied politely, with a tone he didn't recognize...

"I'm sorry, sir. I meant - please, Professor, could you show me - ?"

Dumbledore produced a wand, and waved it in the direct of Tom's wardrobe. And so it burst into flames before his very eyes, and Harry could see the excitement in them. He thought he heard a rattling as well, and as he listened closer, his eyes turning to the wardrobe, it grew louder.

Tom's face had turned into one of glee. But it didn't make him look better. In fact, out of all the expressions Tom's worn around Harry, he thinks this one might in fact be the most terrifying. Immediately, Tom's eyes turned on the wand in Dumbledore's hand.

"Where can I get one of them?"

"All in due time, Tom. For now, I think there may be something trying to get out of your wardrobe."

Harry and Tom both realized what that 'something' was at the same time, and they both stared at each other for a moment, Harry's eyes accusing and Tom's no longer full of glee, but the shocked and sober air of being found out. It did not speak of regret or guilt, just the fear of a lie being seen through. Tom hesitated for a moment as he ripped his eyes away from Harry and then walked over to his wardrobe and opened it.

Inside, there was a box. It was rattling, shaking as though there were several frantic mice inside it.

"Take it out, Tom," Dumbledore said.

And so Tom did, and Harry saw that he looked unnerved.

"Open it."

Dumbledore stared at Tom, and Tom took off the lid and emptied the box of its contents onto his bed all while meeting Dumbledore's gaze. They were all small, everyday objects (a yo-yo, a silver thimble, and a tarnished mouth organ were three prime examples), save for one. Once free of the box, the items stopped quivering and came to a still.

"You will return them to their owners with your apologies, and I shall know whether it has been done. You can begin with Mr. Potter, and be warned: Thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts."

Harry saw the way Tom looked at Dumbledore. There was no embarrassment, no shame in that look. It was simply calculating, something cold and appraising.

"Yes, sir."

And with a turn, Tom picked up the necklace and walked over to Harry to put it in his outstretched hand.

"I'm sorry. I had meant to return it after giving it a look over. I hope we can still be friends." From his voice, Harry couldn't tell if that were true. It was polite, so polite, just like the tone Tom had used with Dumbledore, and he knew from that... Tom didn't mean it. It was a front, and it was so different from the Tom Harry had come to know in those two short weeks.

"Me too," Harry replied cooly, still not happy knowing that Tom had gone into his wardrobe when he wasn't around.

"Very good. Now then, Harry," Dumbledore continued, "May I have a look at the necklace?"

"Yes, Professor." Although he didn't feel like parting with it so soon after having it returned to him, he handed it over without a fuss.

"Do you know what this is, Harry?"

"No."

"And Mr. Riddle?"

"No idea, sir."

"Then perhaps it's time for your first lesson. First, I will tell the both of you that at Hogwarts, we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. I believe Mr. Riddle here has been - inadvertently, I'm sure - been using his powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. And you, Mr. Potter, have come across magic much more powerful than you are capable of at this age. Neither of you are the first to do either of these things, and you will not be the last. But Mr. Riddle, you especially should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic - yes, there is a Ministry - will punish lawbreakers still more severely. Mr. Potter, you especially should know the Ministry deals with all sorts of accidental magical mishaps. If you are to return to your time, I believe the Ministry shall deal with your case very closely. Until a time has come to come across a final verdict for you, you may attend Hogwarts in this time, so that if you are to return your transition into your life back in that time shall be smoother.

"The both of you should know that all new wizards must accept that, upon entering our world, they abide by our laws."

"Yes, sir," They both said at once. Neither of them looked at each other, but continued to look to Dumbledore as he continued.

"Now, then, this -" Dumbledore extended the hand that held the golden necklace, "- is what we call a Time Turner. It has the ability to turn back time, and due to that very dangerous element, the Ministry has kept very strict regulations upon the use of such artifacts. Not only that, but it is peculiar that Harry has been able to go as far back as he has. All Time Turners under the Ministry's care have a very set limit on the amount of time one can go back, but if what I've seen is true, Harry, you were born in the year 1980, forty-two years in the future. And since you are to be enrolled into Hogwarts, you are to be eleven years old. Which means you have traveled back in time fifty-three years in all.

"Now that is commendable. And please keep in mind when I say that I say it only with the reverence that this should be impossible. I imagine you didn't intend to go this far back, did you, Harry?"

Harry shook his head.

"I thought not. So this is an accident, that you're here now. Your friend and I were originally meant to have this conversation by ourselves, I imagine. In fact, your friend was not originally meant to be your friend at all.

"Do you understand why time magic is so delicate? You have inadvertently and inevitably, changed both mine and Mr. Riddle's fates simply by being here. Your presence alone, Mr. Potter, indicates a change in the timeline, and shall continue to as long as you are here. And, perhaps most strangely, having gone through such a powerful jump, as a bigger one has not been recorded in living history, you will make it. Whatever you were before, whatever life you might've had in your time, is now over. Welcome to 1938, Mr. Potter. I do hope you enjoy your stay."

Upon finishing his little lecture, he returned the necklace to Harry. "Just to be safe, I would suggest not attempting to use it again."

"Thank you, Professor. I won't."

"We haven't got any money," Tom said, looking between Harry and Dumbledore.

"That is easily remedied," said Dumbledore, drawing a large leather money-pouch from his pocket. "There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy some of your spellbooks and so on secondhand, but -"

"Where do you buy spellbooks?" Tom interrupted, taking the very heavy money bag without thanking Dumbledore, and was now examining a fat gold Galleon.

"In Diagon Alley," said Dumbledore. "You are to share that with Mr. Potter, and I have your lists of books and school equipment with me. I can help the both of you find everything -"

"You're coming with us?" asked Tom, looking up.

"Certainly, should you -"

"I don't need you. Harry doesn't need you," said Tom, "I'm used to doing things for myself, I go round London on my own all the time, and Harry's done plenty for himself, he's told me about 1991. If Harry needs someone I'll be there, but we can both manage without you. How do you get to this Diagon Alley - sir?" he added, catching Dumbledore's eye on hitting 'sir'.

Harry looked at Tom, not having minded the boy speaking for him before, but now that he knew Tom had taken his necklace and hid it, he didn't want Tom to assume that he was going with him.

"Actually, I wouldn't mind being accompanied, Professor." Harry said, sticking out his chin as he looked up at the now standing Dumbledore, and he swore the Professor's eyes twinkled a bit in response.

"Your friend seems quite content on filling that role for you, Harry. You may want to indulge him on this one, as friendships are the most precious of things."

Harry didn't argue, instead turned his head to meet Tom's eyes. "Fine. I'll go with Tom. Tell us how to get there, Professor," and then, as an afterthought, "Please."

And so Dumbledore went on to explain how to get to the Leaky Cauldron from the orphanage, and then he said, "You will be able to see it, although Muggles around you - non-magical people, that is - will not. Ask for Tom the barman - easy enough to remember, as he shares your name, Tom -"

The twitch Tom gave was easy enough to catch.

"You dislike the name 'Tom'?" Harry asked, as Dumbledore watched the exchange.

"There are a lot of Toms," muttered Tom.

"There are a lot of Harrys," said Harry in return, and something about the look Tom gave him in return spooked him.

"My father was called Tom Riddle, too. They've told me. Was my father a wizard?" The last bit Tom asked of Dumbledore.

"I'm afraid I don't know the answer to that," Dumbledore replied.

"My mother can't have been magic, or she wouldn't have died," said Tom, as though it were logical fact. "It must've been him. So - when we've got all our stuff - when do we go to this Hogwarts?"

"All the details are on the second piece of parchment in each of your envelopes," said Dumbledore. "The both of you will leave from King's Cross Station on the first of September. There are two train tickets in there as well."

Tom nodded, and Harry watched Dumbledore get to his feet and hold out his hand again. Harry took it first, but when Tom took Dumbledore's hand, he had to ask:

"I can speak to snakes. We both can, Harry and me. I found out when we've been to the country on trips, and Harry at the zoo. Is that normal for wizards?"

Dumbledore looked from Tom to Harry and back again, "It is unusual," said Dumbledore, who seemed to notice something on Harry's forehead at the time, "But not unheard of."

Though Harry could feel the scrutiny, and knew what the Professor was staring at, Harry didn't try to put his hand over his scar. He thought, that maybe, just maybe, Dumbledore should be able to see it, that somehow it was fine that Dumbledore was curious. That maybe, Dumbledore deserved to be able to see it and Harry wouldn't mind, not like when Tom had stared.

"It's from a car crash," Tom supplied, and from his tone Harry suspected Tom thought that to be a lie.

"The same car crash your parents died in, Harry?"

Harry nodded.

"Who told you about this car crash?" Dumbledore drew his eyes away from Harry's forehead, brought them down to his eyes.

"Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, who I lived with before I came here."

"From 1991, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"And they told you nothing of magic, did they?"

"Not a word, sir. They said it wasn't real."

"Then perhaps..." Dumbledore said, "And I do not mean to cause alarm or confusion, but perhaps this 'car crash' wasn't exactly what they say it was."

And with that said, Professor Dumbledore moved to the door.

"Good-bye for now, Tom and Harry. I shall see the both of you at Hogwarts."

And as quickly as he'd come, Dumbledore was gone.

Harry and Tom were alone once again, and when Harry turned to Tom he saw the other boy staring once again at his scar.

"Whatever killed my parents and gave me this scar... What do you think it was?" Harry asked, not expecting Tom to know the answer. "Do you think it was powerful?"

"Yes," said Tom, transfixed by the lightning bolt in Harry's forehead, "But you must be too, if you were able to escape it."

"I reckon I just got lucky."

"There is no luck with magic. I felt it too, you know. You've got power," Finally, Tom's eyes moved down properly to Harry's. "I know you do. I knew there was something different about you, knew you were like me. But you're not like _him_, either," Tom spoke of Dumbledore in his absence like he spoke of Mrs. Cole in hers, "You're like me, and there's no one like me.

"You're a mistake. You shouldn't be here, but you are."

"Sorry. Didn't really have much control over that. Guess you're stuck with me until this Ministry decides what to do with me."

"And you're going to do whatever they say?"

"Don't really have much choice in it, do I? Doesn't sound like you do either, what with your thieving and all."

"I'll have to be more careful," Tom countered, "And you. I know you're here for me, so I'm going to use you. You're going to be my friend, Harry, and you're going to do as I say."

"And what makes you think that?" Harry replied defiantly. "Because you'll use fear to control me like you do everyone else? I don't think so. We're both beginning wizards, Tom, we're on equal ground. I can resist whatever it is you do to get people to listen to you, so don't even try."

The smile on Tom's face was not pleasant. It was like the look of glee that had passed his face earlier, back when Dumbledore was still around. He wasn't looking at Harry, then, but at the wall, and it wasn't as manic as it was... subdued. The look in his eyes was subdued from before, and his smile superior. "We're not equal." And then, his smile transformed into a sneer. "There may be certain... similarities, and we may be friends, but equal isn't right."

"And you're a right prat, you know that?"

The other boy surprised Harry by laughing. It was humorless and cold, and it set Harry's arm hairs on end, and he had to bite back the 'sorry' he was tempted to say to simply get out of whatever revenge the boy had planned for him.

But no punishment came. At least, not yet. Instead, Tom sobered his laughter and retrieved the items that he kept in the box, putting them back inside and taking it with him out the door, slamming it on his way out.

Something had changed between them, Harry realized as he watched the other boy. He had defied Tom in a way the other children never dared, in a way he hadn't dared before Professor Dumbledore arrived. Seeing how Professor Dumbledore had handled Tom, it made him realize... Tom wasn't the sort of friend he wanted to go about making, and yet he didn't seem to have a choice in the matter. Tom had decided they would be friends, and that was that.

And yet Tom was the worst bully in the orphanage. Harry couldn't go about making friends with someone like that. He hated bullies, hated Dudley, hated how Tom used fear to control the other orphans. And he realized that these last two weeks he'd been living afraid of Tom just as the other orphans were, just... on a different side of the fear. On the side that was supposedly protected by it. Harry wondered how many friends Tom would make at Hogwarts that would fall for that veil of protection, for the fear Tom drove into everyone around him.

September 1st. That's when they'd be leaving. And the both of them needed to get supplies before then, together like Tom and Dumbledore had both insisted on.

After about twenty minutes of Harry reading _Frankenstein _on his bed, Tom returned to their room and to place his now empty box in the wardrobe. He wasn't in a good mood, that was for sure, and when he turned around and spotted what Harry was reading, something in him seemed to snap into place.

But not in a way that made him lash out. Instead, he seemed to don a sort of politeness to him, and approached Harry with a cocked eyebrow. "Do you like it?"

Harry didn't lift his head but when he glanced up, he saw the half-smile on Tom's face. It didn't reach his eyes.

And Harry answered: "No."

"Then why are you reading it?" And Harry felt a dreadful sense of deja vu puddle into his stomach.

So, he switched it up. "To shed a little light on understanding a friend I have, someone who finds this book interesting. And because it's interesting. Why do you care, anyway? I thought you were done with it."

The half-smile vanished, and Tom's eyes held something cold, something angry, something calculating. Something that didn't know what to make of Harry Potter, something that was scared of not knowing what to make of Harry Potter, or how to control him.

"I am done with it."


	4. Diagon Alley

There was something to the world of magic that made the world seem so much brighter. Better, Tom would say. Despite their disagreements and arguing, Tom and Harry agreed on one thing in particular: they loved magic, and everything about it. So while Harry didn't like the way Tom thought of and treated Muggles (a word they'd learned almost as soon as arriving in Diagon Alley), he was quickly realizing exploring a brand new world was quite enjoyable, and that he depended on Tom's internal direction through the strange place.

So after buying cauldrons, phials, telescopes, two sets of brass scales, heaps of books, robes, hats, gloves, winter cloaks, and eyeing the pet store (neither of them could afford one, but they were nice to look at, Harry thought), the very last on their list was for each of them to acquire a wand. Tom lead him with an acute sense of importance, and Harry noticed how the smile hadn't left the other boy's face since arriving was growing bigger. Tom's smile was nice, although it held a bit of the manic glee that Harry had seen in the talk with Dumbledore, it was subdued. It was as though Tom was aware of how he might be seen by others.

The alley was crowded, on top of it all, as it seemed to be teeming with students and their parents for the upcoming school year. Tom was intent on pushing through the throng in order to get to the other side of the alley, and Harry made sure to reach out his hand to grab Tom's before the other boy pushed through. Instead of the intended outcome (Harry being dragged along through the crowd), however, Tom startled and looked back at Harry. He stared for a second, then gripped Harry's hand in return and started to move and shift through the adults in the crowd. With Tom's guidance, they managed to come out the other end fine, and it just so happened that the next thing Tom saw was the very place they were looking for.

_Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B. C._ read the gold lettering. It was peeling a tad, but that was no matter to the two excited boys dashing into the store. A bell tinkled wildly at the force of their excitement, and inside it was dark and dusty. Not too dark; there were candles, and the front windows let some light in, but it just illuminated the dust in the air. The walls were lined with boxes upon boxes on shelves upon shelves. It was tiny, despite a single chair. Neither boy sat down, for they were both anticipating what would happen next.

An old man appeared from behind the counter. "Good afternoon," he said softly, his eyes moons in the night of his shop.

"Good afternoon," Tom replied politely, just as Harry said, "Hello."

"And to what do I owe the pleasure? I take it you two are in for a couple of wands, the very first you can call your own? It is that season, after all." The wand maker didn't wait for any outward confirmation and instead took to approaching the two of them.

"Now, Mr. Potter, if you'd hold out your hand."

"How do you know - ?"

"I've served many a Potter in my time. I'm afraid you look just like your brother at his age, and your father before him," Mr. Ollivander was smiling and staring at Harry, just as Tom was, but the other boy's smile from earlier had disappeared. "Although your eyes..."

"Do you recognize me, sir?"

Harry only a little too late noticed that the measuring tape that was taking his measurements was doing so out of its own accord when Ollivander turned to address Tom's question. There was a moment of tense silence as the wand maker looked at his friend.

"I'm afraid not. What is your name, my boy?"

Harry's stomach dropped, and he knew Tom was extremely disappointed. He wished he could switch, and that Tom could find a family here, because they both knew Harry wasn't supposed to be here. He's a Potter who wasn't supposed to exist until fifty years from then, and he guessed the family he had here wouldn't accept him anyway.

"Tom Riddle," the hatred he held for his own name shown through in the way he spoke.

"Well, Mr. Riddle, please hold out your dominant arm."

While the measuring tape started to measure Tom, Ollivander started digging at the walls, plucking boxes here and there, stepping onto a ladder and bringing a couple boxes down to the counter.

After opening a wand box, he lifted the wand from inside and presented it to Harry. It looked short, but with a stylish wave to it. He did the same with the next box and wand, only this was a little longer and had no wave, but was straight as an arrow, and this was held in front of Tom. Both were dark, but Tom's seemed black in comparison to Harry's cherry red.

"Seven inches, dragon heartstring, cheery oak, bendy," to Harry, and then to Tom, "Ten inches, dragon heartstring, ebony, stiff. Now go on, you two," the wand maker said once they both grasped their wands, "Give them a wave! Though I might suggest, one at a time."

Tom waved his immediately with a strong sense of gusto, and one of the glass cases holding one of the candles in the room burst apart.

"Oh, no, no, better put that down," and Tom did, though Harry saw the slight, and quiet, turn of his lips upward at the experience.

When Harry waved his wand, the entire building shook with dissatisfaction.

"Ah, well then. I'll just put these two back."

Ollivander had them go through wand after wand, doing his best to find the right one for each of them. By the time they had each gone through six wands, the store was in a complete mess.

"Clearly not the right one for either of you, once more," Ollivander fretted, "But worry not, I've done this many years. We will get the both of you to the right fit. Just one more tic," And he was off to search the shelves once more, lifting himself high and looking near the ceiling, when he spotted something.

"Oh," he said, "Oh, I wonder..."

Pulling out the next box, he then turned and stared at the boys below him. "Perhaps I've been going about this all wrong," and with a bit of magic his ladder slid to the far right of the wall, and, stepping down a peg or two, Ollivander pulls out another box with just as much care. He stepped off the ladder, carefully setting two wand boxes in front of him.

He began with Tom's wand, lifting the thin piece of white wood out of the casing and handing it to the tall boy. When Tom grasped the wand, Harry knew that was the wand for him. A warm smile spread across Tom's face, the kind which he hardly ever wore, and with a wave the wand shot off large and magnificent impression of a Phoenix in the form of fireworks, bursting about the room in celebration.

"Oh, yes, splendid! Very good. That is thirteen and a half inches, yew, phoenix tail feather. Powerful and unyielding. Now for Mr. Potter," Ollivander lifted to Harry a second wand, "Holly, eleven inches, nice and supple, phoenix tail feather."

Harry knew this wand was the one the moment his fingers made contact. The air in the room shifted, and all at once the room's previous disarray rearranged itself back into its original, clean positions. The awe at seeing it was evident in his face, he figured, because Ollivander was beaming.

"Yes, indeed, very good, boys. Strange as it is that two young gentlemen such as yourselves would come to me together and without sign of any parents or siblings. I take it you two understand that your fates are intertwined? Because I must insist to you the rarity of the situation here. Your two wands share something no other wands share. I must tell you that the cores of your wands come from the same place, the same magical creature, and I do not mean this lightly. This phoenix gave only two feathers to me, and I highly doubt it will gift me a third. So trust me when I say how surprising it is to see this here and now. Often times when I sell wands of the same origin it is not at the same time, years usually separate the two sells. Even twins, the closest of the close, do not elicit this sort of reaction."

The curiosity in Ollivander's eyes glinted at the two of them, and Harry and Tom looked at each other, and then each other's wands. What Ollivander said about years struck Harry with the thought that originally that was how it was supposed to be. Even all those years later he would still get this wand, and it would still have a matching core with Tom's. The other boy seemed to realize this too, because there was a calculating look upon his face, and he was staring at the wand in Harry's hand.

When they emerged from the wand shop, both boys were quiet for a while. Neither of them wanted to return to the orphanage yet, but they were done buying things and were out of money.

Before Harry could do much more than stand there, Tom's hand reached out and grabbed his, pulling him towards their next destination: _Petra's Pastries._ He brought the two of them inside and went up to the counter. There was a beautiful lady behind it, smiling brightly at the two of them. "Why hello there! What can I get for the two of you?"

"Excuse us, Miss," Tom was doing that polite thing again, Harry noticed, "but we lost track of our parents. They told us if we ever got lost to stick together and head to Petra's Pastries, so is it all right if we sit here and rest a while until they show up? We'll be real quiet."

"Oh, your poor dears. Of course it's all right! Go on, take a table."

When they sat down, Tom stared at Harry in a way that should unnerve the latter boy, but didn't. He just stared right back.

"Do you believe in destiny? Fate?" Tom asked.

"If I didn't before I think I'm starting to now," Harry returned, still holding back the most important of questions on his mind.

"Dumbledore's curious. That's why he didn't take that from you, you know. He wants to see what happens, why I'm so special."

Harry didn't know what to say to that, because he wanted to know the answer to that question just as much as Dumbledore, he thought. After a moment, Harry wondered quietly. "Why you?"

Tom smiled something smug, staring out the window. He gave no answer to that, and Harry figured he'd also a theory or two as to the answer.

"Why me?"

"Better question," Tom admitted, still smiling, "But not entirely unrelated. The problem in dealing with the future is that there's nothing in the past that will give us the answers we seek. I wonder if we're best left to put any thoughts of investigation on hold until we have a little more knowledge of time magic, at the very least."

At that moment, the lady from the shop appeared with two brownies littered with chocolate chunks, presenting them in front of the respective boy.

"Surprise! A little treat from us while you wait," the lady winked at the both of them, "Any sign of your parents yet?"

"No, miss," Tom answered her.

"Well, feel free to tuck in, then. They shouldn't be much longer, I should hope," and with that, she left them alone once more.

Harry watched as Tom made faces at his treat, "What? What's wrong?"

"Chocolate," he answered, scowling, shoving the plate across the table, "You can have mine."

"You don't like chocolate?" Harry thought that was impossible, someone not liking chocolate.

Tom only shook his head, and that was all the permission Harry needed to start on the one originally given to him.

"I'd banish it from existence if I could. It doesn't even smell pleasant."

Snickering into his brownie, Harry couldn't keep his giggling down for too long.

"Don't laugh."

But it was too late, and soon Harry was spitting brownie bits back onto his plate because he couldn't contain his laughter, to which Tom scowled. And then he seemed inspired, for he reached out his hand to grasp the cursed confectionary he'd previously given up, and threw it at Harry's face, where it landed with a plop, the brownie splitting down the middle where Harry's nose was, getting all sorts of chocolate bits on his face and glasses.

Unfortunately, it didn't have the intended effect of shutting Harry up, instead making his laughter even louder, and last even longer.

Tom brought a hand to his face at his friend's idiocy.

"Now, you two best not be making a mess of things. What'll I say to your parents if they come and see you a mess?" The lady was back, and Tom decided enough was enough.

"Please excuse him, miss. My brother can be a bit... dim, with a crude sense of humor. We'll leave now, as I've just spotted our father. Come on, Harry," Tom stood from his seat, all seriousness and no fun, And Harry used his sleeves to try and wipe as much of the brownie off of his face and back onto the plate it came from.

"Sorry," he mumbled as he followed Tom out, still trying to hold back snickers despite the quickly sobering mood.

"I'm not amused," Tom whispered harshly as they made their way through the alley once more, and then, once out of the eyeshot the windows of the cafe afforded, Tom grasped Harry's arm and tugged him over to a dark corner of the alley, pushing Harry against the wall.

"I think... If we are to be friends, we should establish some rules."

To which Harry rolled his eyes, "Look, just because you can't take a little -"

"Friends don't make fun of each other, Harry," Tom insisted, "I know they don't, because I've never once had a friend prior to your arrival and I've had lots of people make fun of me, back when... Before I made it in their best interests not to."

"That would make you the expert on friendship, wouldn't it?" There was just enough cheek in that to make Tom's eyes go narrower than they were.

"Fine! Sorry," Harry said, before the other boy decided to magic punch him or something, "It's just... I haven't gotten a good laugh like that in ages. You're so serious all the time. What do you find funny? When was the last time you laughed?"

"Would you really like to know the answer to that?" Tom, serious as ever.

"Yeah?" And Harry, not entirely sure what to expect.

"I laugh when the people who annoy me get what they deserve. I find it funny when those who tease and ridicule get teased and ridiculed. I like the irony of a well-deserved punishment, especially if I'm the only one to see it. That's _hilarious_."

Through all of that, Tom grew a smile, and now, it was manic, but he didn't laugh.

"I don't know... if that counts as what I was trying to ask. That doesn't really sound like... joking." The more Harry got to know Tom, the madder he seemed to be.

"The young lad is right," came a slithery voice, and Harry jumped. It came from right behind him, and Tom's head lifted and his smile vanished and he looked just as startled as Harry had been.

"Revenge is the best form of humor, that and justice in an unjust world," It was an elder witch, one clad in dark robes and hunched over now that Harry had turned to where he had previously thought there to be alley wall, and was now an open passageway.

"Where... Where are we?" He asked, looking behind her to only dimmer and darker looking shops.

"Oh, best not stop around here too long, young'ins. There's tell of a new Dark Lord, up and coming and so it's best not for wizards as young as ye hang around a place as dank as this." And with that, she shoo'd them away, and they only had back to the bright, colorful alley to go to.

"Dark Lord...?" Harry wondered, and Tom looked like he was thinking.

"We should return for now," And while before Harry would've disagreed, this time Harry understood.


End file.
